


The Moor.

by RedStarFiction



Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-07-26 01:20:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7554640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedStarFiction/pseuds/RedStarFiction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>*TRIGGER WARNING*<br/>This is a pretty heavy piece. It was suggested by a visitor/anon and concerns Culloden Moor and follows the gaps left in the books.<br/>It contains scenes of violence and things people may find upsetting.<br/>*Spoilers for TV fans*</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Moor.

His hands were trembling, the shaft of his sword vibrating in the swirling mist. Around him, all was chaos and yet his head was clear and his vision bright. Claire was gone, his heart was broken and his people were dying in their hundreds. A redcoat dashed past him, pale face expressionless. Their sleeves brushed and elbows cracked but neither Jamie nor the English soldier turned. He saw a blade, moving as if through water, slow and graceful heading toward his chest and for a blessed moment Jamie Fraser knew he would soon be at peace.  
The clash of steel and heavy breathing, followed by a hot spray of blood across the bridge of his nose brought him back and Jamie opened his eyes to see the furious face of his god-father, glaring up at him with fire in his eye. As the older man peeled his lips back in a vicious snarl, Jamie was dimly aware that someone or something had knocked out one of Murtagh’s front teeth. The slap caught Jamie off guard and set his left cheek aflame.  
“Wake up, ye wee bastard! I mean to get ye off this cursed field today but I’ll no’ carry yer arse across it while ye ha’ legs to walk!”  
Jamie nodded mutely and Murtagh tiptoed pressing a fierce kiss to the flushed skin he had just struck.  
“It will be well Jamie. We’ll get ye back to ye lass.”  
“She’s gone, Murtagh. I canna …”  
“Later. We will work it out later. Fight now, Seamus mac Ellen, so that ye might see her yet.”  
Jamie nodded again and with his Godfather to his right, he began to move. He had a vague notion to get to the other side but as he fought, his focus shifted. He meant to die, welcomed it, but not Murtagh, not his friend and mentor. Jamie would see him safely on the road to home. Jenny would like to give him a proper burial and if Murtagh would take his body home to Lallybroch she would surely see him right.  
The roar of canons fired in his ears and steel grating on steel, then the wet squashing sound of a blade finding it’s home. Horses screamed and men along with them but it was only when he saw the devil that Jamie knew they were truly in Hell.  
He was visible through the smoke, hair slicked back in its usual club, eyes flashing black and face running with sweat. He had lost his jacket and fought only in shirt sleeves, grubby white sleeves billowing in the wind.  
Jamie was moving before his brain had found the name by which to call the Tannasg and Murtagh beside him, cutting down all those who sought to block his way by intent or by accident.  
Randall’s eyes lit with a peculiar savage joy as they lit on Jamie, running towards him, face bloody and caked in filth but radiating the light of true purpose. He rammed the hilt of his sword into the face of his current assailant and turned all his attention to Jamie, body quivering with expectation.  
The force of Jamie’s claymore clashing with his own blade nearly broke Randall’s grip and his arm went momentarily numb from fingers to shoulder and his face split into a grin.  
“I knew you would come for me Jamie.”  
He shouted and Jamie answered with a vicious thrust that Randall dodged by sheer dumb luck.  
“This is how it should have been! You and I together …”  
Jamie seized the front of Randall’s shirt, blinded by his rage and the longing to feel the man’s throat crumple and break beneath his fingers, to choke the vile words from him until his tongue swelled black as his soul.  
Randall butted Jamie in the face, breaking his grip and leapt back but not before Jamie’s dirk sliced the flesh of his torso, a long crimson line of blood further stained the shirt he wore and Randall drew a sharp, painful breath, almost sexual in its lingering tones. All at once Jamie was back in Wentworth, streaks of blood coating his backside and trickling down his legs from Randall’s use of him. He tried to shake off the feeling of his skin crawling, like a dog shaking water from its fur but the image would not leave him and his mind clouded over, obscuring all other thoughts but those of slaughter.  
Randall watched Jamie stalk forward again, his high boned face twisted with bloodlust, colossal body moving with the grace of a leopard, each muscle coiled for action, and Jonathan felt what he could only assume was love, flame deep in his chest. He had wanted to possess Jamie’s gentle soul, to own it and use it as he pleased but he had never dreamt that he would see the man who haunted his dreams, wild with such madness as he himself carried.  
“I took from you all I could, but it would never be enough.”  
He whispered, voice hoarse and eyes watering with acrid smoke.  
“Kill me Jamie.”  
Jamie saw Randall’s mouth move but the words were lost to him and he was grateful for it. He never wished to hear that voice again. Jamie stepped forward, the confusion and terror that suffused the moor dropping away, like a dreamscape that one slowly wakes from to find that nothing has really changed. It was only a small gasp that caught his attention, but like an icy wind snatching at the collar of his coat and attacking his neck, awareness shot through him and he turned from Randall.  
Murtagh, doubled over, two soldiers half circling him and blood on the ground, too fresh to belong to another. Murtagh looked up briefly, his eyes clouded with pain, then his feet slipped from under him and he fell.  
“NO!”  
The cry seemed to come from outside of his being and Jamie felt as though his hands moved of their own accord as he lunged forward. He screamed curses and threats and hurled himself over Murtagh’s body, swinging his sword in a murderous arc, daring anyone to come near.  
“Jamie!”  
He heard Randall call his name but he spared him no heed. Each of the English soldiers tried their luck against Jamie and both of them fell, dead before they hit the ground. He whirled on the ball of his right foot, expecting to see Randall charging at him but the mad bastard was slashing down his own troops, shielding Jamie and Murtagh from any attack from the rear.  
Jamie dropped to his knees and gathered Murtagh to him  
“Ghoistidh! Mo caraidh!”  
“Seamus … do mhàthair bòidhchead …”  
Murtagh smiled and traced his fingers across Jamie’s cheek bones, tangling them gently in the waves of his auburn hair. Jamie choked back a sob and shook his head to clear his eyes.  
“Ye’ll be fine, it’s a sore wound but ye are goin’ to be fine. Dinna fall asleep.”  
Jamie jostled Murtagh slightly and the older man opened his eyes, the dark depths of them clear and sharp  
“I’m no’ fallin’ asleep fool, I’m dyin’.”  
Jamie snorted wetly, smiling despite himself at the gruff humour of his friend and mentor.  
“Feitheamh airson mo.”  
He whispered but Murtagh shook his head  
“I canna wait Jamie, ye’ve still much to do but I am done.”  
“I’m sorry, mo Ghoistidh, I should ha’ been beside ye...”  
Jamie’s tears fell hot and fast, soaking into the rough plaid of his kinsman’s shirt, choking his voice.  
“Nay mo chridhe mac, ye did right. Tha mi aithreachas orm.”  
Jamie would never be certain when Murtagh passed away, nor how long he sat cradling his body and pouring out his sorrow. He would not remember Randall placing a gentle hand on his shoulder and the instinctive recoil that brought him to his feet and drove his dirk into the Englishman’s chest, seconds before the knife in Randall’s hand a chance to find a home in Jamie’s own neck.  
He would not remember any of this and yet somewhere deep in his subconscious, Jamie Fraser would know that he had his vengeance.

**Author's Note:**

> do mhàthair bòidhchead – your mother;s beauty  
> Feitheamh airson mo! Wait for me  
> Mo chridhe mac – son of my heart  
> Tha mi aithreachas orm. – I have no regret  
> Ghoistidh – godfather  
> Fuirichibh! Wait  
> Mo caraidh – my friend  
> Ruith - run


End file.
